


Watercolour Whispers

by loveheartlover



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveheartlover/pseuds/loveheartlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine has a talent he's kept a secret from Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watercolour Whispers

Please don’t misunderstand; Kurt is very supportive of his fiancé’s new hobby. He just wishes his Dad hadn’t been the one to find the books.

Blaine has always had an eye for beauty. Technically they both have, but Kurt found beauty in the clear lines and symmetry of a cleverly designed room, in the folds of a sweater.  Blaine could find the beauty in anything, and then turn that beauty into something worth remembering. Be it a perfectly focused photograph or the framing in a scrapbook, Blaine managed to breathe life into all that he did.

It was only after Kurt found Blaine’s sketchbooks that he realised just how talented his fiancé was.

Blaine could _draw_.

Kurt had been going through the boxes of their things as they unpacked in their new apartment when he found them.  Books of pencil sketches; rough, unfinished outlines of scenes from their everyday lives- Sam and Mercedes dancing together in the kitchen, Artie fiddling with his camera, Rachel brushing her hair. A stack of loose leaf charcoal drawings, mainly of buildings Kurt recognised from around the city, and at the very bottom of the box was a slim green sketchbook, thicker paper and fewer pages.

Inside were delicate watercolour paintings, of the pond they sometimes ate dinner by, the beach they’d visited with Kurt’s family over the summer, areas of the park they liked to walk through. Right at the very end was a single painting of Kurt lying naked on his stomach in bed, a sheet draped across one thigh. He was painted in soft, muted colours, pastel pinks and yellows.

Kurt knew that he looked good. He’d worked hard for the body he had and it had paid off, but he had never quite understood when Blaine called him beautiful.

In that one painting, he could see it.

Blaine had blushed and stammered when Kurt brought up the sketchbooks over dinner that night, trying to brush off the compliments and insisting it was just a meaningless hobby, but over the weeks Kurt had persisted, had asked to see more of Blaine’s work, and eventually Blaine believed him.

He’d asked Kurt to model for him not long after.

Watercolours were Blaine’s favourite medium, but his mood influenced his art. Some days Kurt would find page after page of oil pastels, heavy and bold drawings of a table or a fireplace because Blaine had had an argument and needed to vent somehow. Other days were full of movement, captured in the blur of charcoal sketches after Blaine sits on a dance class, or simple pen line art and colouring pencils that could capture the fur of their neighbour’s cat better than any paint.

Their apartment quickly filled with some of Kurt’s favourites, but the watercolours of Kurt himself were kept hidden in the books.

When Kurt first began to let Blaine sketch him, he stayed clothed, shy in a way he hadn’t been since high school. Gradually, through both Blaine’s compliments and the incredible art that he produced, Kurt regained that confidence. His shirt buttons were undone. He was shirtless. He stood with his back to Blaine and showed off the strength in his shoulders, the slimness of his waist, and the dimples at the base of his back. He faced Blaine with one finger hooked into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them a little lower, eyes sultry. He stripped to just his underwear, sat cross-legged on their couch, knelt in the middle of their bed. He lost his final layer, but made use of the various blankets and sheets they had around the home, covering himself shyly, until finally those were gone too.

The days that Blaine painted often coincided with the days they had the best sex- something about staring at one another for hours at a time, Kurt under strict orders not to move and often in very little clothing, really got their libidos going.

Burt and Carole come to visit them over the Easter weekend, stay in the spare room the boys can’t really afford but have anyway for occasions just like these. Carole and Blaine have gone grocery shopping when Burt makes the find.

Kurt and Blaine have a scrapbook full of wedding plans that Kurt wants to show his dad, and really it’s Kurt’s fault. He should have remembered that the scrapbook and the book full of Blaine’s portraits of him are both bound in light blue, should have given better instructions, but he didn’t, and here they are.

Burt hasn’t moved in almost five minutes, just silently flicked through the pages before coming to rest on the portrait that has been open for the longest time- Kurt once again lying on his stomach in bed, awake this time, his head turned to face Blaine. If Kurt’s feeling less than modest he’ll admit that this is his favourite of all of Blaine’s paintings. Blaine had managed to capture the light of the rising sun, the tease of Kurt’s smile, the light blush across his cheeks, and then he had softened the whole painting using chalks once the watercolours had dried.

If Burt had better manners he would have closed the book the second he saw the first painting, but Kurt knows exactly where he inherited his nosy nature from.

“He painted all those pictures around the apartment, didn’t he?” Burt finally says, looking up to meet Kurt’s alarmed gaze.

He doesn’t look angry. If anything, Burt looks faintly impressed. Kurt puts his phone back in his pocket, opting not to send the SOS text to Blaine just yet.

“Yeah, yeah he did.”

“Think I can commission him to paint something for Carole’s birthday?”

“I’m pretty sure Blaine would fly to the moon if you asked it of him.”

Burt chuckles. “From now on, maybe keep this one away from your wedding scrapbook, and we’ll just pretend this never happened.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Burt is walking out of the room when he casually throws over his shoulder, “Until I make my speech at your wedding, of course. I didn’t know you could go that red.”

Kurt’s stammers fall on deaf ears, but when their wedding day arrives, Kurt is glad he kept the exchange a secret from Blaine, having simply said Burt had asked who did the paintings in the apartment when Blaine wondered why Burt wanted him to paint something to do with Finn for Carole’s birthday. The secret is worth it for the way Blaine flushes and tries valiantly to hide behind his new husband as Burt recites the entire encounter.

Seven years later, Kurt stands in the doorway of Blaine’s studio with their baby daughter in his arms, watching his husband set up a small canvas next to his own for their three year old son.

“What are you going to paint today, little one?” Kurt asks.

His son turns to him, giggling. “Painting you, Daddy.”


End file.
